JLA (Just Left Alone)
by kidanarchy2105
Summary: What if Bruce Wayne didn't prowl the rooftops at night? What Clark Kent never put on red and blue tights? What if Diana Prince never swung the Lasso of Truth. What if the Justice League never existed?


It was dark. Bruce could remember every single detail of that day. Every breath, every step, every thought, he committed to memory. It was the day his life changed. The day he knew the man he would become. The day he vowed to help anyone in need, regardless of who they were. And one, irrefutable fact about that day, was that it was dark.

Another was that it was nippy. Bruce smiled as the cold autumn air hit his face as he exited the theater. He had just seen "The Mark of Zorro", and loved every minute of it. Imagine, a daring hero, who thinks not of his own wellbeing, but merely of the safety of others. Now imagine he was rich, with no actual reason to help. To Bruce it was a fantasy, but it was one worth living.

Bruce held his father's hand as they walked through the back alley exit of the Park Row Movie Theater. His father was a large man, strong and sturdy, but with a compassion that was undeniable. He lived only to help his fellow man.

That was the reason he took Bruce to this particular theater. Despite his family's wealth, Thomas never lost touch with the common man. He wanted Bruce to show the same dedication to being the best Gotham's citizens had to offer. So, he took him to a theater in "Crime Alley", so that he could appreciate all he had, and help those less fortunate.

As they walked, Thomas noticed a figure appearing in front of them. It was cloaked in shadows, and Thomas was unable to make out any particular features. He could tell, however, that it was a man. He wore a trench coat, and though Thomas could not see his face, he sensed a feral air surrounding the man. He reached an arm out, and pushed back his wife and son.

"Bruce, Martha, let me handle this," Thomas said, as his family waited patiently behind him.

He slowly approached the man, who he could now tell was looking down at his feet.

"It's too late, you moron, you have to make a move, he's here," the man mumbled to himself. His face was covered in scuffs and dirt, and his clothes looked well worn. The soles of his shoes were loose, and his trench coat was torn at several places.

Thomas tapped the man's shoulder. "Excuse me, sir, why exactly are you standing here. I couldn't help but notice that don't appear to be entering or exiting the theater."

It was then that the man brandished his gun. It was small, a handgun, but definitely enough to kill everyone in the alley.

Bruce clenched his mother's hand. He had seen guns in films before, mostly used by the bad guys. He never thought he would see one for real, though. Normally it would seem cool to a boy his age, but right now, in this dark alley, it was terrifying.

"Money. Jewelry. Now." The man said, as he aimed the gun directly at Thomas. Despite the threatening nature of his words, and the fact that he was holding a lethal weapon, the man seemed nervous. Almost as if he was just as scared as the people he was holding at gunpoint.

By now Bruce had started crying. This wasn't a movie; there was no Zorro to save them; there was just a man with a gun, robbing his family. He had never been so scared.

Martha looked into her son's blue eyes. "It's okay Bruce, everything's okay. Don't cry, we'll be alright," she said, as she cradled him in her arms. He hugged her tightly, as she held him, trying to assure him of a positive outcome.

Thomas reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his wallet. It was Italian leather, with his family crest, a gavel and scales, woven into the material. He reached in and pulled out several hundred dollar bills. To Thomas, this was pocket change, but to this man, it was a lifeline.

"It's all I have on me, I'm sorry," Thomas said, as he handed over the money. Despite the man's actions, Thomas could tell he was not a violent or aggressive man. This man was desperate, at the end of his rope, possibly having a family to feed.

As the robber walked away, Martha and Bruce walked towards Thomas, Bruce still hysterical. It was then that Thomas did something incredibly unexpected. He called out to the man.

"Wait!" he said, as the man had nearly exited the alleyway.

The man turned, and stared at Thomas. He stood still, as Thomas slowly approached him. When Thomas was close enough, he reached out and put his hand on the man's shoulder.

The man was confused. He reached into his dingy trench coat and pulled out the gun once more.

"L- Let go of me. I'll shoot!" the man shouted. His voice cracked as he said it, betraying his supposed grim demeanor.

Thomas did as the man asked, and released his shoulder. He looked at the man, whose face was battered and worn, as though he had been to the gates of hell and back.

"I don't think you'll shoot us," Thomas said, staring at the robber. "Let me ask you something: Why are you doing this?"

"Shut up!" the man yelled pointing the gun at Thomas's head.

Martha squeezed Bruce's hand. Right now, she was just as scared as her son. There was a man pointing a gun at her husband's head, and her husband kept pressing him. They had made it out alive, but Thomas wouldn't let it be. Why was this happening?

Thomas kept talking, not faltering for a second. "You don't seem like a killer. Listen, I know you're scared. I don't know why, but you have to do this, don't you. You need money, but you can't find a job. It's rough. Please, put down the gun and talk to me, I want to help. I promise I won't call the police. You're scaring my family. You're not a bad person; help my wife and son see that. Put down the gun."

The mugger hesitated, but dropped his weapon. He looked down once more. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You made a bad choice; a mistake. It doesn't have to define you. What's your name, sir?"

"Joe. Joe Chill," the man replied. He was near crying. He looked to the side, ashamed.

"Well, Joe, I'm Thomas Wayne. I own a multi-billion dollar company. Would you like a job?" Thomas replied. Thomas was now smiling, and spoke in a fatherly tone, trying to reassure Joe.

"Why?" Joe asked.

"Excuse me? Why what?" Thomas asked, with a chuckle.

"Why would you help me? I robbed you, pointed a gun at you. I'm nobody; I'm scum. Why are you doing this?" Joe asked, thankful but confused.

"You had several opportunities to shoot me, and no reason not to. But you didn't. I can see you're a good person. Everyone deserves a second chance. I'm giving you yours, Joe. Now here, take this card. Come to the address listed for a job interview," Thomas said, handing Joe a business card.

"Thank you so much." Joe said. "He reached into his pocket and gave Thomas his wallet back. "Here, I'm sorry."

Thomas took his wallet and passed Joe a few bills. "You'll need to buy a suit for your interview."

Then Thomas walked back to his wife and son. Bruce had stopped crying, but still held his mother's hand. Thomas ruffled his hair and they left the alleyway.

Bruce never forgot that day. It was the day his dad showed him what it meant to be a Wayne. It wasn't the wealth, or the career or even the family name. It was the compassion, and the courage to look past someone's flaws and help them regardless. That was when Bruce became a man.


End file.
